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“Corm, just kiss her,” Ilsa cried, laughing. “She won’t bite you.”
Strike glanced at Robin, who looked as frozen and awkward as he felt. There was a chorus of encouraging cheers from the assembled tipsy guests in Nick and Ilsa’s kitchen. The Christmas party was in full swing and everyone was in a jubilant mood. Most had finished work that afternoon for the festive period, and the booze had flowed well.
Robin looked up at him, and at the mistletoe above him that they had inadvertently found themselves under. She hadn’t even spotted it until Nick had shouted from the other side of the kitchen. The whole room had turned to look. Heat swept up her chest and across her face. She felt as though she had gone scarlet. Strike was trying to look amused, but she could see the hesitation in his eyes, and... fear?
“Just get it over with,” she hissed, and he raised a wry eyebrow. He complied, though, bending forwards to press a chaste kiss to her lips. Cheering and whooping erupted round the room.
Robin’s eyes had fluttered closed as he drew near. There was nothing sexy in being forced to kiss her boss in front of a roomful of drunk people she barely knew, and yet... And yet he was so gentle, so reverent, something stirred in her heart. Her lips softened beneath his, and he lingered just a beat longer than he needed to. He smelled spicy and smoky and warm. He drew away slowly, and her eyes drifted open to meet his, seeing a flash of warmth and something she couldn’t define before the shutters came down and he turned to roll his eyes at the cheering onlookers.
“Move along now,” he told them firmly, and stepped away, heading to the fridge for another beer. A few answering cheers, and people went back to their conversations. Robin was glad she had already been blushing before the kiss, hopeful that the heat that had swept over her at the feel of him and the look he gave her would go unnoticed. She moved away as well, gravitating towards Ilsa who had promised to introduce her to a couple of her junior colleagues.
...
Robin was in the utility room later, hunting for the spare wine stash Ilsa had sent her to find, when Strike appeared behind her. “What are you doing?” he asked. She jumped a little, hadn’t realised he was there.
“The wine’s been flowing a bit too well,” she said, feeling slightly tipsy herself. “Ilsa said she’s got more stashed in here, sent me to find it.”
“Any beer?” he asked, grinning. They were running low on that, too. It seemed everyone was letting their hair down in the spirit of Christmas. He was a little hazy himself on how many he had had.
“Mm, we might have to do an emergency dash to the off licence,” Robin mused, hunting in cupboards. He couldn’t help but admire her bottom as she bent over to search through a cupboard under the counter. His mind wandered back to their chaste kiss earlier. He’d felt her lips soften beneath his, and suddenly really wanted to kiss her again and see if she’d react the same way.
“I have a bone to pick with you,” he said, teasingly. She straightened up. “What’s that?” she asked.
“‘Just get it over with’?” he copied her earlier tone, and she giggled. He pretended to glare. “Doesn’t do much for my fragile male ego,” he complained.
“That’s not what I meant.” She smiled at him gently. “I just wasn’t imagining for a moment that you wanted to do it.”
“Why not?” he demanded. Dangerous territory. How many beers have I had, he vaguely wondered. Enough to throw caution to the wind after her earlier reaction.
“Well, you know, all those people watching,” she managed, her heart fluttering at the way he was looking at her suddenly.
He grinned. “True,” he said. “Some things are better done in private.” He stepped forward a little, pushing the door to behind him. His eyes travelled up above her head. Robin looked up and burst out laughing. “Mistletoe in the utility room?” she said, disbelievingly.
“It’s all over the flat,” he said. “I’ve been bumping my head on it all evening. They’ve done it deliberately.” He stepped closer again, and Robin couldn’t breathe suddenly.
“So,” he said softly. “How about a private kiss?”
She dropped her head a little, shy. He could have had his pick of women here tonight, she’d seen a couple of them eyeing him. “Are you sure you want to?” she asked, half teasing and half uncertain.
“It’s all I’ve been able to think about all evening,” he said, and kissed her, softly at first until he felt that melting acceptance again, and then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Her mouth opened to his and her arms slid around him as she kissed him back, her tongue darting to meet his. He could feel her trembling against him.
“Robin, did you find the...” Ilsa was barging through the door, a little tipsy herself. “Oh! Sorry!” Strike and Robin broke apart, Robin burying her flaming face in his chest. Strike turned and glared at a giggling Ilsa over his shoulder.
“Ils, go away, there’s a good chap,” he said, and she backed out, still giggling. He kicked the door shut on her delighted expression and turned back to Robin. “Where were we?” he murmured, and Robin wrapped her arms around him again and ignored the chorus of cheers from the kitchen as Ilsa relayed what she’d seen.